as i walked through this cold snowy field stumbled upon a patch of green
puzzeled, i touched the stem of one of god's wonderment not knowing what i found
caressed by the warmth of sol, emerged a being so full of beauty i stood in awe
gazing in her eyes transfix in sudden paralisis nothing to mumble so not to ***** her
her look of bewilderment gazed upon me she glided her hands softly, slowly up and down
my body, not knowing ,just a puzzled glance her petals engulfed me as if to say we are one

and they were all there, the blond copier, the bill payer
the setter, the psyche, the keeper of the bell, the super sec
gathered together for the food of the day. the red headed one
screeched for there was no food. the earth shook, the skies
darken, the seas grew angry. but alas, the wise man appeared
bearing gifts of myrrh, gold and a big salad.the skies cleared,
the seas calmed, and peace was once again brought down upon the table.

and so they feasted on the bounty of the land with smiles abound
not a morsel was lost as their hunger subsided

they spoke of families and friends, and of enemies to be.of tales of lore
lies, and a raging banter that drove the men to the wine. in the background
was that irritating ring, on the other end was some mindless question bequeathed
upon the great table. yet no one missed a chance to sample the bounty

and the music, ah the music, it seems that only five songa were ever made in the history
of mankind. over and over it blared, relentless mind numbing, with the occasional
chorus of the red headed one.

and when you thought that they had their fill, the sweet nectar of the pastry appeared
they all stared in wonderment,tempted by their thoughts, only to be succumbed by
the sweetness of the snake.

and the meal ends and the jester starts, providing laughter to fill their bellies once more.
the satire continues until they can give no more.

and they prepared to exit from the great table with smiles chiseled on their faces and
thoughts of great friendships, and the anticipation of tomorrows leftovers.
                                                            BELCH

naked trees stand bent
old men lay down silent death
nature's way of life


springtime serenade
bluebirds chirp morning songs
nature awakins


the clouds roll slowly
crack to open their arms
the rain falls gently

see the hills gently roll,feelthe grass softly flow
beneath their roots, i am old
silent stories never told
ours is not to say, where we lay
He request us, His own way
we can ponder,come what may
till our thoughts subside, end of day

i resolve to: understand me,understand you, understand us. each year is a short story, a comedy, a tradgedy, a magical experience. let us not mutate into tragic beings and hold despair in our hands, rather let us morph into the guiding lite that is in our souls and feel the joy in ours eyes and the warmth of our smiles for all mankind to see.

The tiny starfish hands pressed on both my cheeks. Her heart trembling in her sea-washed, sky-gray eyes. Little delicate lips pressed in an adult line of barely-controlled emotion. The *****, dully-shining tear streaks that drew paths through her freckles. Butterfly kisses, I would tease her as I swept her into the salty air.

I have to focus. I steel myself, dragging memories from the back of my clouded mind and setting them before my fogging eyes. I refuse to let them slip away again. I could never live with myself if I did.
I had said something to her. Ignore the fact that I can’t remember what it was. She smiled through the tears, her laugh a reminder that she wasn’t the adult she was trying desperately to be - that I was forcing her to be. I had wrapped her in my arms for the last time, lifted her toddler body easily from the sand. She held onto me tighter than I thought she could - another underestimation, I suppose. My neck started running with her tears. I hummed her song through a choked throat.

“Momma loves you.”

Fairly standard, as far as last words go. But sufficient. I am satisfied. Flashes of that day, the departure, boarding the ship, lacking the strength to watch my daughter fade into nothing behind me, spin past my eyes with increasing speed. Funny, everything else has slowed. The water makes my limbs sluggish, the ropes twining like lazy snakes around them. The footsteps of my heartbeat have slowed their pace, leaving longer and longer pauses of silence in their wake. Even the glittering light, what there is of it, is lethargic in its reaches to my nearly-blind eyes.
With all the salt-water clouding my vision, dimming my memories, I could swear the sea knows of my loss. It must: it is weeping with me.